I'll Never Be Alone
by Predec2
Summary: Justin's feeling a little sorry for himself on Valentine's Day.  This is a little one-shot inspired by something I read in the paper this morning.  Hope you enjoy it!  Brian/Justin romance - post 513 fic.


Justin placed his paintbrush down on the palette and sighed; Brian had left quite early this morning, bound on a pre-dawn flight for a business trip to Chicago. He had advised him last night that his appointment with Sure-Fit Sports Apparel would take most of the day and he wouldn't be home until very late, sometime after midnight, since both he and the CEO were resolved to complete the promotional television ad graphics before their marathon meeting was over. That meant that hopefully by the time his partner got done with his meeting, he would not only have the client's gratitude for getting the task completed quickly, but more importantly, Brian would also have a couple of million dollars deposited into Kinnetik's account as a bonus incentive for getting the work done ahead of schedule.

Justin knew all too well how important this meeting was, then, to Brian, and as he wiped his smudged hands on his used, gray, long-sleeved painting shirt, he tried to focus on what this would mean to his partner. But in the back of his mind, he also couldn't get past the fact that today was Valentine's Day.

Since he had returned from New York a few months ago, more than pleased as well as satisfied by now with the amount of notice his talent had received there, he had been so happy to be back with the source of all his inspiration. The gallery director he worked with in New York had assured him that he could do what he had been wanting to do for some time now – paint back in Pittsburgh with the stipulation that he return frequently as needed for promotional events and showings – and still keep his name and work in the spotlight. The couple of featured articles over the past year that had been done in New Yorker magazine and Art Forum had helped assure him of that as well.

Brian had initially acted skeptical that Justin was returning to Pittsburgh just because he really wanted to and not because he thought it was what Brian wanted. After a few days of persistent "persuasion," however – taking the form of some non-stop fucking/making love sessions both at the loft and at Britin – he had managed to convince his lover that he truly _did_ prefer to keep his hometown as his base of operations, a fact for which Brian was unable to disguise his happiness over once he had believed him. In fact, lately it seemed that they had finally succeeded in fucking in every available corner of their massive new home, including a couple of closets they had found behind some hidden doors on the other side of the two wall-to-wall bookcases in the master study.

They had then spent the past few months getting reacquainted and developing their new life at Britin. Justin had been stunned initially that Brian had actually kept the house as well as the loft, and had even gone so far as to convert the upstairs attic into a studio for him, complete with newly-installed skylights overhead that had remote-control blinds that he could use to manipulate the amount and angle of light that filtered in, and built-in display shelves with all sorts of wicker baskets and plastic bins to keep his plethora of art supplies in. He had even built a miniature photo studio in one corner of the attic, complete with a flexible, high-wattage lamp and backdrops so he or Justin could photograph not only his artwork for sale, but Brian could use as well from time to time when he needed to shoot some scenes for an ad campaign.

He would have never really thought that Brian would actually want to live here at Britin – he always figured that his partner had only done it because of what he thought _he_ had wanted – but just like Justin had needed to persuade Brian of his desire to be back in the Pitts, Brian had also managed to convince him that he really _did_ want to live out here in the boondocks where the most exciting event that occurred nearby was the annual Folksinger Festival.

Now, as he stood there looking at his latest, unfinished piece – an abstract of swirling, dramatic colors of purple, red, navy, and white being done for a major bank franchise in downtown Pittsburgh – a feeling of unexpected melancholy washed over him. Oh, he was happy for the most part – ecstatic, really, that he and Brian were together again – and he really _had _meant it when he had told Brian before that they didn't need vows or rings to prove their love. He was secure in the knowledge at this point that Brian truly did love him – he had proven that many times by now, mainly in deed but occasionally verbally, too, to his delight – but that still didn't mean that deep in the back of his mind and his heart he still didn't crave the tokens of love that went with it. He knew it would never happen – he was convinced that Brian had only proposed to him before because he had been scared shitless after the bombing – but he still couldn't help wishing, especially on this day of romance, that in an ideal, fairy-tale world, it couldn't still be possible.

_Get over it, Taylor_, he chided himself in disgust, as he picked up his brush again. _Brian is just being Brian and that should be good enough for you_ – it _is_ good enough, he decided, as he dabbed his brush back into the eggplant-colored paint and once more began to add more brushstrokes to the canvas. Soon, he was lost in his world of imagination as his worries slowly faded into the back of his mind and he continued painting.

* * *

He hadn't even realized how late it had been getting until he began to realize the lighting was changing; instead of radiating from the east as it did in the mornings, he was now facing into the sun through one of the tall windows originally built on either side of the attic. He squinted as the sun eventually came into his direct view and, once he had regained his sight from being temporarily blinded, he glanced over at the pop-art type clock hanging behind him and noticed to his surprise that it was almost five p.m.

Once more, he placed his brush down, but this time he plopped it into a medium-sized, former tomato juice can and swirled it around to loosen up the paint in preparation for cleaning it later. Wiping his hands on a rag nearby, he stood back to examine his now-completed work. At least with Brian gone, he had been able to focus a little more on his work, he thought with just the hint of a smile. The man always was terrible for his concentration when he was around – he still was just too damn distracting for his own good. But he couldn't complain about the reason why, because their lovemaking and fucking always made his body sing like no one else ever could, even now. Not that he ever went looking for anyone else's attention nowadays, anyway – for all of Brian's hesitation to become a "Stepford fag" in his words – the man had amazingly agreed quite readily to being monogamous. In fact, somewhat to his partner's embarrassment and Justin's amazement – Brian hadn't fucked anyone else since he had left for New York. It had barely been above a whisper when he had admitted it, but apparently being able to see each other in person every other weekend and participating in a little hot phone sex in between had been just enough to keep his man from straying anywhere else, a fact that Justin took considerable glee in, at least internally.

As he nodded in satisfaction over his completed work, he was startled a little by the ringing of the doorbell. Knowing it took a while just to navigate from his upstairs attic studio to the front door, he rushed over to the steps and hurried down the narrow, wooden staircase to the second floor where the bedrooms were located.

A few minutes later, he finally reached the downstairs and turned at the bottom landing toward the front door. Through the frosted glass of the entrance door – he and Brian had replaced the somewhat worn one with a more ornate, stylistic type of lead crystal and mahogany model – he could make out a person standing there with what looked like a package.

Between his and Brian's work, it wasn't unusual to see a delivery van arrive frequently, so what he spied wasn't much of a surprise. As he opened the door to greet Larry, the local delivery man for a national shipping company, he wrote his name on the electronic signature pad and, nodding at the man with a smile he took the latest package into the study nearby and sat down.

It was the same room in which Brian had proposed to him, and especially in light of what day it was, he couldn't help thinking back to when he had first laid eyes on this imposing structure and how stunned he had been when Brian had told him he had bought the place. He could still vividly recall how Brian had built a fire after he had accepted his marriage proposal, and after they had slowly, almost reverently taken off each other's clothes, his partner had gently laid him down on the floor on top of one of the sheets that had been covering a piece of antique furniture and had proceeded to tenderly make love to him in front of the flickering flames. He sighed longingly – it had been so _romantic_, so typical of what you might do on Valentine's Day, and Brian's face that day – it had been a face so open and full of love for him that his heart had threatened to burst from the intensity of it. Even now, it made his pulse speed up in recollection. It was a moment he still treasured to this day; of course, he treasured every moment he spent with the man he loved, but that day – that day had been _special_.

Forcing himself to turn back to the nondescript package lying in his lap, he reached over to the nearby side table to open the narrow drawer and take out the scissors kept there. The package was a long, rather thin envelope made of Mylar which was impossible to tear easily. He could feel what appeared to be bubble wrap surrounding the contents, which indicated to him that it might possibly be one of his smaller works that he often sent out to be framed before displaying in either the gallery in New York or a smaller one that he had recently signed with in downtown Pittsburgh.

Slitting the end open with the scissors, he placed them back in the drawer and closed it before slowly sliding the contents out. It was, indeed, some sort of framed work, of that he could tell. But with the thick layer of bubble wrap surrounding it, he couldn't ascertain which one of his works it was. Pulling the tape on the end to loosen the cushioning, he was able to slowly pull the frame out to get a better look at it.

He frowned as he realized it wasn't one of his paintings; it was actually a photograph instead. His eyes widened as he began to study the photo in detail.

It was a photo of a small, older-looking book, opened to a page of poetry. In the top of the folded edges was laying a golden, gleaming wedding band; a band that looked suspiciously identical to the ring Brian had bought him after he had proposed to him. He had never seen the two bands again after the two of them had said goodbye at the loft; he had assumed, then, that Brian had merely taken them to the jeweler and gotten his money back for them. Was it possible, though, that he had kept them instead?

What caused his breathing to stop, though, was the shadow created _beneath_ the wedding ring, however; the angle of the light had somehow created a perfect shape of a heart beneath the piece of jewelry.

Feeling his eyes fill with tears, he squinted and wiped some of the moisture away with his sleeve so he could read the actual poem on the left-hand page that was entitled "I'll Never Be Alone":

_From your arms I'll make a wall, then I'll never be alone._

_I'll let your arms encircle me when the nighttime comes._

_From your smile I'll build a wall, the tallest wall that man has known._

_Then I'll hide behind your smile and never be alone._

_Then we'll go gentle in the wood and what we do for one another will be warm and good._

_I'll wear your love as one might wear a crown of laurel in his hair and then if you'll be here I'll never be alone. _

Justin pursed his lips together in a futile attempt to stop the tears now rolling down his cheeks but it was no use. He sniffled loudly as he gazed in wonder at the photograph, so unlike Brian but oh so utterly romantic and perfect for Valentine's Day.

He heard a quiet noise from the doorway and looked up in shock to see Brian standing there with a large bouquet of red roses in one hand and a small box in the other – a box he instantly recognized as a jewelry box as his heart stopped in response. "Brian," he whispered softly. "How did you get here?"

Brian smirked at his partner's look of disbelief – it was just the reaction he had been expecting. He made a motion with his one hand like a plane before saying, "Private jets – they're a real convenience when you need to take care of something important."

Justin sat there for a few seconds with his mouth still gaping open in stunned incredulity; his gaze switched between the photo in his hands and his partner's inexplicable, sudden appearance at Britin before he took just a moment to gently place the treasured object down on the couch next to him and stand up to rush over and melt into his partner's outstretched arms.

"I take it you missed me?" Brian asked teasingly as he heard one more sniffle coming from the warm body whose arms were wrapped tightly around him.

"You might say that," Justin whispered against his chest as he relished the feeling of being held against the taut physique of his partner. He pulled back just enough to look into the amused hazel eyes before reaching up with one hand to pull Brian's head down for a deep kiss as a physical verification of what he had just said. The two breathed out of their noses for several seconds as the kiss continued before they reluctantly broke off to gaze into each other's eyes.

Brian curled his lips under as he swept the roses up toward Justin's face. "A flower vendor accosted me at the airport," he explained simply as he raised his eyebrows in a silent challenge to refute him.

Justin, however, merely nodded his head and smiled. "I see," he said solemnly. He took the proffered, long-stemmed roses from his partner and brought them up to his nose to inhale them. "They smell wonderful," he exclaimed as he caught the intoxicating, perfumed scent and gazed up into the twinkling hazel eyes. He stared into the orbs of his partner intently in amazement, still unable to quite believe that not only was Brian standing there but he had actually bought flowers – _roses_ – for him. And the photo…..

"Brian," he breathed out breathlessly. "The picture…..it's, it's so…"

"Ridiculously romantic?" Brian completed for him. The two men smiled at each other. Even though Justin still unfortunately didn't remember their dance at the prom, Brian had confessed to him where that phrase had come from after he had tried to recreate the scene at the loft for him in an attempt to get him to remember. Since then, whenever Justin had managed to sneak in a few sappy moments between them, Brian had always chided him with the response that it was "ridiculously romantic." He just had never thought he would have used the same expression for one of his own actions, but here he was – being even more "ridiculously romantic" than Justin had ever been.

"Yeah," Justin responded, knowing that both of them were probably thinking the same thing. "And the poem…"

Brian placed his free hand over the lush, pink lips before saying in mock sternness, "Don't stretch your luck, Taylor."

Justin grinned behind the fingers placed over his lips as Brian removed it. His smile faded a little, though, as he remembered a particular part of the photograph, and the box that Brian was still holding in his hand. "Brian? The ring in the picture…is that…?"

Brian let out a soft breath. "Yes, Sunshine, it's your wedding ring – the same one that's in this box." He held up the small, square black box in the palm of his hand as Justin almost timidly took it from him.

"You kept them even after I left?" he asked in wonder as he opened the box to reassure himself that they were, indeed, still nestled inside. The light from the lamp nearby created a rainbow of flashing color in reflection as Justin's breath caught in his throat at the sight of them – they were just objects, round pieces of gold with no beginning or no end – but to him they meant so much more. He raised his eyes to stare into his partner's in a silent question.

Brian twisted his mouth in full recognition of having been caught. Of course, that had been the idea all along but now he had to actually explain it out loud. "Yes, I kept them," he said even though it was obvious. He took a breath of courage to say what his heart wanted him to say before adding, "I always hoped we would use them, Justin."

Justin could feel his "allergies" rising once more as his eyes glistened with tears. "You did?" he asked softly.

Brian nodded. "Yeah….I just needed for you to discover what you really wanted first, that's all."

Justin looked at him incredulously. "Brian," he whispered. "I always wanted you – _us_. That was never in question. And I guess I _did_ want to find out just how far my art could take me, too," he admitted as he gazed into the soft hazel eyes; Brian's eyes always mesmerized him by the constant changes in their color. When his partner was in the throes of passion, they were almost black as night. When they were looking at his son, they were a soft shade of pale green. When they were full of love, as they were right now, however, they were a deep spring green with flecks of gold, and like always, they almost made Justin's heart stop in response to the knowledge that he had that power over this proud, magnificent man.

He continued, "But I've been there, done that, Brian. I can do what I want to do from here, and also have what – _who _I want to have: you..._us_. That's what I really want."

"Are you sure, Justin?" Brian asked just a little uncertainly. He knew now what _he _wanted, but he had to be sure it was what the man he loved wanted, too.

Justin smiled warmly at him. "You'd better believe, Mr. Kinney," he said firmly.

Brian stared at him for a few seconds before he nodded, satisfied. "Well, then, in that case…" He reached over to pull out Justin's wedding ring from the box before gazing into the wide, blue eyes and saying, "Would you marry me for real this time?"

Justin sniffed loudly now, unable to stop the flow of tears even if he wanted to, which truthfully, he _didn't._ He bit his lip in joy as he finally managed to whisper one word back. "Yes," before Brian smiled and slowly slid the slender band over Justin's left ring finger.

With a trembling hand, Justin reached into the box and retrieved Brian's ring to perform the same action for his partner. His hand lingered as it cradled Brian's fingers and he stared in wonder at the band adorning the long, bronzed ring finger of his partner.

Just before the two men wrapped their arms around each other's waists, they stared into each other eyes and smiled.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Justin," Brian whispered with a smile. "Oh, and by the way…..I love you." He was amazed how easily that last part escaped from his lips, but now that it had, it filled him with immense happiness as he saw Justin's trademark smile appear promptly on his beautiful face at its highest wattage level.

"I love you, too, Brian," the blond whispered in reply just before the two came together for another kiss.

* * *

_A/N: The poem quoted is "I'll Never Be Alone" by Rod McKuen - no copyright infringement is intended. And - BTW - this really does work in case you need an idea for Valentine's Day! Hope you enjoyed this little one-fic! Reviews would be welcome as always.:)_


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